


Sudden Edinburgh

by Lemon Drop (quercus)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-03-30
Updated: 2001-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quercus/pseuds/Lemon%20Drop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair help an old friend of Blair's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sudden Edinburgh

Blair opened the door to find Henrietta Nelsen there, tall, a bit forbidding despite her tentative smile. 

"Professor Nelsen." For a few seconds he stood there, motionless in his surprise, and then opened the door wider. "Please come in. Uh, this is my roommate and partner, Jim Ellison. Jim, this is Professor Nelsen. She teaches English at Rainier." 

Jim hurriedly pulled off his apron and came around to shake her hand. "Professor." He glanced at Blair, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. 

"I'm sorry to bother you at home, Blair, but. . ." She bit her lip and looked at Jim. 

"Why don't you have a seat," Blair finally said. "I haven't seen you in years, Professor Nelsen. I never told you how much I enjoyed your classes." 

At that, she smiled, softening her stern expression. She settled on the sofa; Blair sat in the big yellow chair, Jim on one of its arms. "You were a good student, Blair, and a pleasure in the classroom. I was always a little sorry you chose anthropology over English. You'd've made an excellent teacher." 

Blair looked at the floor; Jim put a hand on his back. "Well, now I'm a cop," he finally said, looking up at her, feeling a little challenge in his heart, aware of the challenge on his face. She nodded, blushing slightly. Blair felt Jim's warm hand rub small circles; he leaned into its comfort. 

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't come here to bring up unpleasant memories of Rainier, Blair. I. I need help. I thought you might." She looked with great interest at the rug under her elegant shoes. 

"Is this a police matter?" Jim asked, straightening up. 

"No! Oh, no, please. I just, I thought Blair could give me some advice. Now that he's with the police. But I don't want to make an official complaint." She looked into both their faces. "Is that possible? Can I tell you something in confidence? Or if there's a crime, do you have to report it or something? 

Jim looked at Blair, who was waiting for him, face tilted up. Blair loved the silent communication he and Jim had mastered in their years together; he knew Jim would rely on his judgment and was waiting for his decision. 

"I think we can hear what you have to say without doing anything in an official capacity," he finally told Professor Nelsen. "But I can assure you, if a crime has been committed, we're going to advise you go to the police." 

"No, no crime. At least not yet. I don't think." 

Blair thought how much Professor Nelsen had aged in the fifteen years since he'd taken her classes in composition and in British literature, when he was a freshman and sophomore. She'd been an exciting teacher and he really had considered majoring in English. But the idea of doing research in the jungle had called him, and the notion of sentinels had spoken to his very soul; English was interesting and fun, but anthropology had been _necessary_ to him. 

"Go ahead, Professor," Jim added. "But Blair's right. If a crime has been committed --" 

She nodded her understanding, then took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "This is a little embarrassing," she said, and swallowed. Blair jumped up. 

"Do you want some water? Wine? We have some beer, and orange juice." He opened the fridge to continue listing their beverages; she smiled at him and said, "A glass of water, please." He saw her eyes track beyond him, into the kitchen. "Oh, Blair, I'm sorry. I interrupted your dinner." 

"It's all right," Jim reassured her. "Just tell us what happened." 

Blair brought her a glass and she took several sips before starting again. "Okay," she said, almost to herself. "As I said, this is embarrassing. I must ask you to keep this part confidential. Is that possible?" 

Out of the corner of his eye, Blair saw Jim nod, and he did, too. She sighed heavily and took another sip, then set the glass down and straightened her back. "You know me as a teacher of composition and literature. I'm also fairly well known for my work in popular culture, and I've given papers all over the world on how personal computers have changed how we teach composition, as well as how electronic media changes gender expectations in the classroom. 

"What you certainly do not know is that I, uh, I publish, rather successfully, in a niche market, to be sure, a very _small_ niche market, um, well, homoerotic fiction." She looked severely at them, as if she thought they'd laugh or scoff at her. 

After a few seconds, Jim said, "Homoerotic fiction?" Blair felt his mouth twitch but remained silent. 

"Yes. Stories about men, um, engaging in sex or romance. With other men. My audience is middle-aged women." She took a breath. "Studies have shown that many straight and bisexual women and lesbians have a preference for homoerotic literature. There's a very small source for them to turn to, primarily gay literature for men, but that's written for a very different audience. I write homoerotic fiction for women. With a small crossover audience of gay men, of course." 

Blair knew his eyes were popping, but years of working as an anthropologist, a police observer, and now a cop helped him keep his mouth shut. He simply nodded. "Of course. What name do you write under?" 

Professor Nelsen smiled. "Alexandria de Vere." 

And now Blair's mouth did drop open. " _You're_ Alexandria de Vere?" She nodded proudly. "Holy shit. Excuse me, Professor Nelsen." 

She looked shocked. "You know my work? But, Blair . . ." 

"A woman I dated had some of your books. I picked one up." He smiled at her. "It was good. Heaven Calls Me." 

"Oh, yes," she smiled fondly. "One of my early ones." 

"When you say publish," Jim interrupted them, "do you mean literally publish?" 

Blair nodded. "Yeah. Like Professor Nelsen said --" 

"Please, Blair. You just learned my deepest, darkest secret. I think it's time you called me Hetty." 

Oh shit, thought Blair. I can't call _anyone_ Hetty. But all he said was, "Yes, ma'am. I think I remember hearing that there's even a comic book?" 

"Graphic novel," she said, clearly pleased that he knew her work. 

"And you know this because . . ." Jim asked him, a light teasing note in his voice. 

"Like I said, a girlfriend owned several of, uh, Hetty's novels. I read one. It was interesting. Fun." 

Jim clearly had questions for Blair about reading homoerotic novels, but instead, after a few seconds. he said to Hetty, "Why are you telling us this? How can we help you?" 

The smile left Hetty's face. "I've received these," and she pulled several sheets of paper from her large black leather purse. 

Jim took them, holding them so Blair could also read them. All printed on a laser printer, in Times twelve-point font. No address or names. Simply the words: You should be ashamed. You will be embarrassed. 

The last sheet also said: Ten thousand dollars will save your good name. 

"This is extortion," Jim said. 

"Well, maybe. I mean, they don't say when or where, and I haven't received any more." 

"How did you get them?" 

"They were just sitting in my mailbox, in the English department office. You know how open that is," she said to Blair, who nodded. 

"Anybody could drop something off," he told Jim. "A hundred people a day must go through there. Rainier has a big English department; probably twenty tenure-track faculty?" 

She nodded. "And another thirty part-time lecturers. Plus TAs and student assistants and staff and who knows. I tried to ask the secretaries about it -- we have two full-time staff," she added to Jim, "but they hadn't seen anyone or anything unusual. And I wasn't about to go into much detail." 

Jim nodded and studied the three sheets again. He glanced at Blair who caught the clue and started asking Hetty questions about dates and times she'd received the notes, watching Jim surreptitiously as he sniffed and rubbed at the paper. 

At last, Blair wound down and looked at Jim, who slightly shook his head, and said, "Professor Nelsen --" 

"Hetty," she corrected him. 

"Hetty. You're right. Technically, at this point no crime has been committed. No one's demanded any money from you or made any threats against you. But you know as well as I do that the next note will include a demand for the ten thousand dollars." She nodded. "When that note comes, we will have to report this." 

"No! Oh, Blair," she appealed to him. "Please. Can't we keep this quiet? I don't know why I'm so shy about letting people know that I'm Alexandria de Vere. The genre isn't that well known; hardly anybody would recognize the name; I'm tenured; senior faculty; nearing retirement. I've even started talking to my husband about revealing who I am, what I do. But I want to do it on _my_ terms." 

For a frozen moment, Blair thought his heart would stop. He stared at the notes in his hand, half afraid to look at Jim. At the Sentinel. The Sentinel who'd been publicly revealed, and whose privacy had been recovered only at enormous personal cost to them both. Then he felt Jim's hand again, lightly rubbing his back, and he relaxed, looking up at his partner. "We can understand that," Jim said softly, looking straight into Blair's eyes. Blair nodded, and smiled at Jim. 

Jim sighed. "Okay, Hetty. Here's the deal. What we do next depends on the next note. If there's any threat against you, this goes straight to the captain of Major Crimes. But if it's a demand for money, we'll consider keeping this unofficial until we catch the guy." Before she could thank him too much, he held up his hand. "I'm not making any promises. Odds are, I'll go straight to my boss. But I'm willing to at least consider keeping it quiet, as long as I feel confident that you're safe." 

She nodded vigorously, her hands clasped in her lap. "I understand. I do. And I know it wouldn't be the end of the world if this got out. I just. It's." 

She turned to Blair, who nodded. "We really understand. We'll do our best. Just call us the minute you get the note. I'll get you a card with our all our numbers on it, so you can call anytime." 

She stood up. "I won't keep you from your dinner any longer. Thank you both so much. I'm so glad I came." She shook their hands vigorously, and then strode to the door. "Thank you," she said again, and Blair let her out, watching her walk toward the elevator at the end of the hall. 

When he shut the door, Jim was pulling the apron back on, a smile on his face. "Homoerotica, eh, Chief?" he said as he turned the burner back on under the chicken breasts he was sauteing. 

"I'm going down to B and N after dinner, see if they have any of her books. Wanna go? We can have a latte and dessert there, too." Jim looked at him from under his long lashes, but he nodded amiably. 

Barnes and Noble did indeed carry a few books by Alexandria de Vere, and Blair was sure that Jim couldn't possibly turn any redder when he'd asked where to find them. Next to Full Frontal Fiction, Ladies' Own Erotica, and Aqua Erotica, however, they found several. They took their time, skimming the volumes. There were a couple collections of short stories, and three full-length novels; they even had a copy of the graphic novel. Blair was too embarrassed to buy it, but he did buy an anthology of her later stories and her novel Chemistry. Then he bought the latest issue of Sports Illustrated to carry on top of the de Vere books. 

Jim had an iced decaf mocha with a chocolate-chocolate chip cookie, and ordered Blair a latte and madeleine while Blair captured them a small rather rocky table in the corner near the window. Evening was coming upon them and the street lights were already glowing, but the bright lights of the bookstore made it easy to read Hetty's books. He handed Jim the anthology and opened the novel. 

Five minutes later he looked up at the gulping sound Jim made. His normally stoic face was pink and when he saw Blair looking at him, he slammed the anthology shut. "Shit, Chief," he began, and then looked around him. Leaning forward, he said softly, "Do you know what she's writing about?" 

Also whispering, Blair said, "Well, men fucking men, I assume." 

"Yeah, but," and again Jim glanced around them. Blair hoped he hadn't been this obvious while on covert operations for the Rangers. "Rimming," he whispered hoarsely, turning even redder. Even his ears were red, Blair noticed with interest, before the words sank in and he felt himself blush. He didn't think he'd ever heard Jim say that word before. In fact, he didn't think Jim knew what rimming was. He swallowed. 

"Oh." 

The two men stared at each other and then started to laugh. Pretty soon they were howling, Blair wiping the tears from his eyes with a napkin. "My English teacher?" he said brokenly. "She taught me Frankenstein. And Animal Farm. And," but he was laughing too hard. 

"Animal Farm, indeed," Jim tried to say, but only years of working together let Blair understand his words. 

At last they settled down, trying to be mature adults, and finished their coffees, not daring to read further. When they were finally out on the street walking to the parking lot, Blair said, "Well, now I understand her reticence." 

"Jesus God," was all Jim said, and that was the last of it, until Hetty called them at work a few days later. 

They met her at her office on the third floor of Hargrove Hall, a big corner office befitting a senior faculty member of her reputation, with a, to Blair, chilling view of the fountain. He sat with his back to the window and felt Jim lean against his shoulder, further blocking the view. Hetty was distressed as she handed them the fourth note. 

"I found it just minutes before I called you," she explained. "Neither Angela nor Tina had seen anyone they didn't know in the office today." 

"Which means it's someone you know," Jim said, looking at her closely. Blair could tell he was trying to sense the truth of Hetty's words. She nodded. "Is there anyone with a grudge against you? Someone you suspect?" 

To Blair's surprise, Hetty blushed, and her eyes shifted to her right. "Professor Nelsen?" he asked, falling back into his old way of addressing her. 

Tears filled her eyes. "Last year, one of my grad students got angry with me. He wasn't making progress on his dissertation and I called him in. I suggested we start meeting more regularly, in the hopes that would get him back on track." She smiled ruefully. "He wasn't appreciative of my attention." She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her fingers. 

"What did he say?" Blair asked gently. 

She shook her head, still smiling. "Well, he called me a bitch and told me to fuck off, to leave him the fuck alone. I gathered he wasn't that interested in pursuing the doctorate at this time in his life." 

"What did you do?" 

"Nothing. Well, wrote it up for my notes, of course. Mentioned at one of the department meetings that I thought he wouldn't be finishing. But that's all." 

"Why do you think it's him?" 

"He's the only person I can think of who's been that angry with me recently." 

Blair glanced at Jim, who was still staring at the note. "What's his name?" 

"Jeff Hanson. He's from Chicago, and I know he was worried about his student loans. But I haven't seen him since." 

"You know him, Chief?" 

"No. I really didn't know many English majors. Mostly in the social sciences and the natural sciences." 

"Well, this note pushes your problem into my captain's lap," Jim began, but Hetty raised her hands. 

"No, please, Jim, Detective Ellison. Isn't there any other way?" 

Blair put his hand on Jim's and pulled the note closer so he could read it again. It said: Leave the ten thousand taped to the back of the toilet near the window in the ladies' room on the third floor of Hargrove, northwest corner. Friday night. "Let's at least see who it is, Jim." 

"What are you saying, Chief? That we stake out the ladies' toilet Friday night?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, actually, I am. Come on, Jim," he said louder, more insistently as he watched Jim's face. "Once we know who it is, we can decide what to do next." 

Jim looked at him in disbelief. "You're seriously suggesting we spend Friday night here? Let's say we catch this guy; what then? Harsh language? Come on, Sandburg. You're a cop. You know what we hafta do." 

But Blair just looked at him, aware that Hetty was also staring at Jim, silently pleading that they do just that. "Jesus," he muttered. "Seriously, Blair. Hetty. We catch someone and what do you want me to do?" 

Blair remained silent and, as he hoped, Hetty finally spoke up. "Call me. Let me know who it is. If it's Jeff, well." She rolled her head back. "I have been thinking of going public. What's it matter? Who would care? The university can't fire me. There's no morals clause in my contract. My writing isn't inconsistent with the mission of the university; it doesn't subject it to liability. My husband is also tenured, in the chemistry department, so he couldn't be hurt, either." She smiled weakly. "I guess I out myself." 

She sat up straighter and looked into Jim's eyes; Blair remembered the force she could be in a classroom when challenged or excited by the topic. "But on my terms. I want to know who this is, and why they're doing it. Just let me know that much before this goes forward. Please. Jim. Blair." 

Blair put his hand back on Jim's, shaking his arm slightly. At last Jim said, "I'm an idiot. I'm probably also breaking the law. But what the hell." He looked sternly at both of them. "When we catch this jerk, we report him. Got it?" They both nodded, Blair smiling broadly at him as he released Jim's hand, who immediately batted the back of his head. 

"Actually," Hetty continued, "this might not be entirely bad. I'm about to have my latest novel released. Sudden Edinburgh." She smiled. "No publicity is bad publicity, right? Staid English teacher revealed to be writer of pornography. Oh my, the Board of Trustees is gonna love this." Her smile got broader. "I've been talking to my husband about going public anyway. Maybe this is a sign from God to do so." 

Jim shook his head and stood, smiling himself. "Whatever, Hetty. Just keep your phone plugged in Friday night. We'll call you if we find anything." 

"Do you really need ten thousand dollars?" she asked worriedly. "I can't possibly raise that kind of money between now and Friday. Not without telling my husband about this." 

"You haven't -- Hetty," Blair started, but she held up her hand. 

"I'll tell him when I know who this is, Blair. I promise you," and she smiled as entreatingly at him as any of his undergraduate students had, back when he had been a teacher, too. He shrugged. 

"No, we'll dummy up a packet. Something we can track. You on that, Darwin?" Jim asked Blair, who nodded, already trying to think how he could mark a bundle of newspaper so Jim could trace it. 

So they shook hands, receiving much thanks from Hetty, and Blair never had to look at the fountain at all. 

On the drive back to the station, Jim said, "What kind of title is that anyway, Sudden Edinburgh?" 

"Not a clue," Blair said, puzzling over it himself. "Maybe it's some kind of historical romance. Like Diana Gabaldon's Outlander." At Jim's glance, he said, "Actually, you might enjoy that. Goes on forever, one adventure after another, and lots of good sex. Also set in Scotland. 

"So, I was thinking. We'll cut up newspaper and wrap it in butcher paper. Do you think you could track smell? If I put something on the paper?" 

"Probably. Depends on what you use." 

"I was thinking about my aftershave." 

"Royale Lyme?" Jim smiled. "Well, shit, I can follow that easily enough. Haven't smelled it on you in a long time." 

Blair felt himself flush. "Well. Yeah. I only use it when I'm on a date." 

"No dates for a while. Noticed that, too." 

"Well, neither have you." 

Jim didn't answer, just stared out the windshield as if the traffic had suddenly gotten difficult to maneuver in. Blair smiled and remained silent as well. 

That night, tucked in his solitary bed, Blair returned to Hetty's novel he'd picked up earlier. He found it a bit unlikely at times, but unwillingly became caught up in the story and the two appealing main characters, Andrew and Tommy. It was set at a university, with a very slight mystery providing a rationale for the men's encounters. Two previously straight men who suddenly realize they're not nearly as straight as they thought. 

And the sex was hot, Blair admitted, shifting in his bed, kicking the covers off. Hetty must've done some research, he supposed, to know about prostates and rimming and ass play of all kinds. Not that Andrew and Tommy had reached that point in their relationship, no, but he'd peeked ahead, looking for the sexy bits, just as he had, though not as successfully, with all his sentinel research. Well, hell, he assumed everyone did. 

But the scene that caught his imagination was when Andrew, the older of the two and a senior faculty member in the chemistry department, was watching Tommy sleep. Tommy's office had been vandalized and Andrew had offered to share his until Tommy's could be cleaned and repaired. Tommy had accepted and they'd grown used to each other's presence. Late one warm autumn afternoon, Tommy had fallen asleep in his borrowed chair, slumped over a corner of Andrew's desk. And Andrew had watched. 

Watched closely. Noticed the auburn highlights in Tommy's curly hair, much thicker than his own. Noticed how the lines of worry and stress had smoothed from his face, leaving him young and vulnerable looking. Noticed the slight smell of aftershave and deodorant and pressed cotton rising from Tommy's firm young body in the warm office. And without conscious volition, Andrew watched his hand reach out and gently brush a curl back from Tommy's forehead. 

What a sweet and gentle man he is, Andrew thought, and wished he had someone in his life like Tommy. Someone to share more than an office with, and on more than a temporary basis. He suddenly felt alone, and lonely, and most of all, he felt old and unloved and unlovable. 

Turning away, he forbade himself the pleasure of watching Tommy's back rising and falling as he breathed, but his eyes returned again and again until he admitted to himself that he wanted nothing more, and nothing so badly, as to be there when Tommy woke up, and to be the one Tommy woke up to. 

Jesus, I'm pathetic, he scolded himself, but it was too late, too late. He's my friend. But I want more. 

At that moment, Tommy's eyes opened and, as he saw Andrew watching him, he smiled, a relaxed and open smile of trusting affection. "Hey," he said, and Andrew found himself unable to speak. He nodded, smiling back as they sat quietly in the sun-drenched room on a warm October day. 

Well, shit, Blair thought. So much for jacking off to that. He shut the book and turned off his light, but lay in bed, thinking about Andrew and Tommy and where they were headed. One nice thing about novels; you could look ahead and see what would happen. Not like life at all. 

That night, he dreamt of Jim watching him sleep. 

Late Friday afternoon they again met Hetty in her office, Blair carrying in his backpack the package of well-wrapped cut-up newspaper and a roll of duct tape. He'd dabbed his Royale Lyme on the stacks of newspaper as well as the butcher paper, not enough to overwhelm him but more than enough for Jim to keep tabs on. They trusted no women would be wearing that particular brand of aftershave. 

Hetty taped the package to the back of the toilet as explained in the note while Jim and Blair waited in her office, in case anyone was watching. Friday afternoons the campus was dead; only staff and a few especially dedicated students were around. There was a play being performed, but it didn't start until eight and that was all the way across campus in the Theatre Arts Building, so Blair didn't anticipate seeing anyone tonight. Except the extortionist. 

For a while, the three of them talked, going over their plans. There was a classroom just across the hall and down a bit from the ladies' room that Jim and Blair planned to camp out in. They'd brought sandwiches and thermoses of coffee, and Blair had tucked in Hetty's novel to keep him company. When they fell silent, he flashed back to the description of Andrew watching Tommy sleep. 

"Hetty," he asked, genuinely curious. "Why is your next book called Sudden Edinburgh?" 

"Do you like the title?" She appeared a little anxious. 

Jim raised his eyebrows. "It's certainly, uh, memorable. What's it mean?" 

"I was hoping it would be catchy. It's based on a vacation my husband and I took to Edinburgh a few years ago. We took a tour of the underground passageways of Old Town and I really fell in love with all the ghosts and ghouls that haunt there. 

"I remember in particular the vaults under the South Bridge, carved right into the limestone. Damp, dank, and dark. Brr." She shuddered dramatically. "I thought it would be a great setting for a murder mystery." 

"But you write homoerotic fiction," Blair pointed out, and she smiled. 

"Well, yes, I do, and this is. Very." She raised her eyebrows mischievously. "Very," she repeated, and Blair felt himself blushing a bit. "And it all happens very _suddenly_. 

"And I liked the metaphor of the underground passageways for what happens to the two men. How they have to get beyond the surface, the obvious, to discover the depths in themselves and the depth of their love for each other. Too obvious?" She looked anxiously at them again. 

Jim laughed. "Hetty, you have to let people know what you do. You enjoy it too much not to. How'd you keep it a secret all these years?" 

Shaking her head, she admitted, "It's been, you should excuse the expression, hard," and both men laughed. "It was easier when I was younger. I guess as I've gotten older, I just don't care as much. But it's so much fun when I'm in some incredibly boring meeting. I look as though I were diligently taking notes when in fact I'm jotting down ideas for the next sex scene. Really makes the time fly. 

"And you know what?" she added, glancing at her watch. "It has. I have to go. I'm meeting my husband and another couple for dinner. But I have my cell phone, so call. We should be home no later than eleven. 

"Thank you, gentlemen." She shook their hands as they stood. "You've got the key to my office, yes? Take care. I'll be worried about you both." 

"Go, Hetty," Jim urged, still smiling at her. She slung her purse over one shoulder and a well-stuffed bookbag over the other. 

After she'd gone, Blair sat back down, this time putting his feet up on her desk. Jim slapped at them, but he just shifted them out of his reach. 

"Who d'you think we'll find?" he asked Jim, who shrugged. 

"Probably this Jeff guy. Sounds like he's got it in for Hetty." 

"Yeah, but that was almost a year ago. Surely he'd've done something before now." 

"Maybe. Maybe he's nuts and has been stewing over it all this time. Maybe it's another student, somebody she failed. Or a jealous co-worker." Blair snorted. "Well, Einstein, you got a better idea?" 

"Not really," Blair admitted. "When should we get down to the classroom?" 

"The secretaries are just locking up now. Once the building is empty we'll head down there, get settled. You be sure to go before we go." 

"Yes, ma." 

"And get your feet off Hetty's desk." 

"Yes, ma." 

"You talk to your mother that way?" 

"Yes, ma." 

By six, they were settled in the classroom, on the floor since the hard wooden desks were too small for Jim and too uncomfortable for either of them. Blair had brought blankets as well as snacks and they settled down for a long wait. Like any other stakeout, he thought. 

"Can you smell the package?" 

Jim nodded. "I checked it, too. Looks fine." 

"You went into the ladies' room?" Jim just rolled his eyes and took a sip of coffee. Blair lay on his back, his feet resting on the seat of a chair, and pulled out Chemistry, turning to the page he'd dog-eared. 

After a while, Jim asked, "How is that?" 

"Pretty good. I like the two guys. I'm not entirely convinced by how they got together, but I'm pullin' for them, you know?" 

"No. What d'you mean?" 

Blair rested the open book on his chest and stared at the acoustic tile ceiling. "Well. They're nice guys. They're lonely. They like each other a lot. They really want to be, I don't know, part of a family? A couple? And there's this weird attraction that they tried to pretend didn't exist for a long time. Sitting in meetings eyeing each other. Noticing each other at campus events. Stuff like that." He shrugged. "I dunno. It's just nice." 

"Nice." Jim was leaning back against the wall, his long legs stretched out and crossed. "Read me some of the nice parts." 

Blair rolled his head back to look at Jim upside down. "You want me to read to you. From a homoerotic novel." He was pleased to see Jim blush. 

"Forget it, Sandburg," he growled, but Blair was enjoying himself too much. 

"No, no. I'll read it. Uh, you want some sexy fun or something sweet?" 

"Jesus," Jim muttered. "What do you think her husband thinks of all this?" 

"Hey, he's laughing all the way to the bank. Okay, okay, shut up and let me read." He flipped through the book until he found a passage he'd liked. He wasn't exactly sure he could read it with a straight face, but he had enjoyed it and wanted to see Jim's reaction. 

"Okay," he said again, and heard Jim sigh. "So here's the story so far. These two guys both teach in the chemistry department at some school in northern California. Normally a pretty liberal place, you know; that's important. Anyway, somebody is harassing the younger guy, Tommy. They keyed his car; trashed his office; stole papers outta his department mailbox; shit like that. Campus security is trying to help, but they're hopeless. 

"In the meantime, this older professor has offered to help. Ethically, I think there might be a problem with that, that kind of power imbalance, but --" 

"Chief." 

"Okay, okay. Um. So they finally got a clue that they like each other, but they haven't realized that the other likes them. Did that make sense? See," but Jim interrupted him again. 

"Yeah, I got it. The older guy realizes he likes Tommy, but doesn't realize that Tommy likes him, too, and vice versa." 

"Yeah. Exactly." He rolled his head back again, but Jim was staring into space, looking very relaxed and even a bit interested. "So they, like, start to touch each other, and have dinner together, and Andrew, that's the older guy, gets really angry when bad things happen to Tommy. This is a scene when Tommy begins to realize that Andrew feels the same way about him that he feels about Andrew." Blair cleared his throat and began to read. 

"Long after the waiter had cleared their table, they sat staring out into the Bay, watching the thin streamers of fog roll in, up over the coastal range and then down towards them. The air smelled of fog and salt; Tommy tucked a loose strand of wildly curling hair behind his ear in a futile effort to subdue it. 

"He glanced at Andrew, only to find him watching him closely. Tommy smiled and then smiled more broadly when Andrew blushed and dropped his eyes. 'Hey,' he said softly, and Andrew looked up at him. 

"Even though Andrew was older and a senior member in the department, Tommy realized that he had control at this moment. He sat up in his chair and pushed his wine glass away so he could stretch out his hand to Andrew. He remembered waking in Andrew's office that afternoon a few weeks ago and finding Andrew watching him, a curiously tender look on his face. Tommy reached out, and his heart seemed to turn in his chest when Andrew hesitantly responded, sliding his own hand across the white tablecloth past the detritus of their dinner to clasp Tommy's hand. 

"The gesture portended much to Tommy. He grasped Andrew's hand firmly and scooted his chair closer to his friend. He could hear Andrew's respiration increase, and he felt a stirring in himself that he hadn't felt in a very long time." 

Blair paused, waiting for some reaction from Jim, but he remained silent. For several minutes they stayed quiet, then Jim shifted slightly. "Yeah," he finally said. "That was nice. It was -- romantic." 

"Not very realistic?" Blair asked softly. He heard Jim shrug in the silence of the empty building. 

"Depends," he finally heard whispered. 

Greatly daring, he turned ahead. "Do you wanna hear a sexy bit?" he asked when he'd found the passage that had served him so well the night before. 

"Do you want to _read_ a sexy bit?" Jim asked, sounding more like himself. Taking that as a yes, Blair swallowed and started reading. 

"'Jesus, that feels good,' Andrew whispered, exhausted almost beyond speech. He lay sprawled on the bed, resting his face against the soft sheet. Tommy knelt between his opened legs, one hand massaging Andrew's thigh, the other gently but firmly stroking the soft flesh behind Andrew's balls. 'Oh, god,' Andrew moaned almost too softly for Tommy to hear, 'mmm. . .' He sighed. 

"Tommy's left hand tightened around the muscles in Andrew's thighs and slowly dragged down a few inches, then skimmed back up, over his ass then firmly down again. When he reached the juncture of Andrew's thigh and ass again, he slowly pushed Andrew's leg so it rolled even wider open. 

"Watching closely, Tommy slid his finger into Andrew's asshole. The muscle was loose and a little pinker than usual. He easily slid a second finger in, rolling them against the walls inside. Andrew pushed back very slightly; he was tired, but couldn't help the motion. 

"'Are you going to fuck me again?' Andrew whispered, longing in his voice." 

"Jesus, Sandburg," Jim said, sounding a little shocked. 

"Sorry, sorry," Blair felt himself babbling, and once again rolled his head back to check on Jim. 

"You're gonna break your neck, you keep doing that." So Blair pulled his legs off the chair and sat up, turning to look at his friend. 

"I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't mean to embarrass you." 

"You didn't embarrass me," Jim said, even as his blush was fading. "Just. It's just a strange thing for one guy to read to another." 

Blair felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. "Well, you asked," he said weakly, but looked down at the book in his hand. Suddenly, he wished he'd brought Police Gazette to read instead. 

The two men sat in silence for a long time. Blair lay back down and Jim re-crossed his legs. Blair dozed for a while, waking only when Jim moved nearer the door. "What is it?" 

"Janitor, I think." Blair sat up, putting his hand on Jim's shoulder for support, and they remained sitting there for nearly thirty minutes while the janitor worked his way through the hallway. 

"He gonna come in here?" Blair whispered as quietly as he could. Jim shrugged, but Blair was already plotting what to say, what reason to give for them camping out in a classroom. 

Then Jim said, "He's in the bathroom," and both men froze. Even Blair could hear the man banging around, emptying the trash, turning the water on and off. When the door squeaked open and shut again, Jim relaxed. "He didn't take it. Didn't notice it at all." Then, "He's coming in here," and the lights flashed on. 

"Senores?" 

Jim was still blinded by the lights, so Blair pulled out his badge. "Sir, just empty the trash and go," he instructed the obviously frightened man. "We're here on duty. You need to do your job and go." 

"Si, senor. Immediatamente." Watching them closely, he emptied the trash and wiped down the blackboard quickly, then left, pushing his cart rapidly down the hallway, muttering to himself. 

"Well, that could've gone better," Jim said sourly, but Blair just smacked his shoulder. 

"It's cool. You said he didn't take the packet." 

"Maybe he woulda come back for it." 

Blair rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Chill, Ellison. Have another sandwich." To his surprise, Jim did just that, offering Blair half. 

"I've been thinking," Jim said through a mouthful of sandwich. "Wasn't there some scandal or something a few years ago, about Hetty, I mean Alexandria de Vere?" 

"Yeah. Uh, ninety-five, I think. Or six. One of her novels had a character in it that some people thought was a lot like Mel Gibson." 

"Yeah. He sued?" 

"Threatened, I think. Or maybe it was just all a publicity stunt. I don't know." 

"Hmm." Blair watched Jim, who'd paused in thought. "Was it him?" 

"Jesus, I don't know. I only read that one. Cindy had several of them, though. I think there's a web page, too." 

"So women really like to read that stuff?" 

Blair shrugged. "I'm not an expert," he said dryly. "But if Cindy was typical, yeah. It sure worked for her." 

Jim rolled his eyes and went back to his sandwich. 

After mopping up the mustard that had leaked onto his hands and chin, Blair lay back down, stretching out his back muscles. To his even greater surprise, he felt Jim take Hetty's novel and heard him begin flipping through the pages. But he said nothing, just lay back and kept his eyes closed, not wanting to embarrass Jim or himself any further that evening. Once again, he fell asleep. 

He woke when Jim put a hand over his mouth and another on his shoulder. He jerked away, and found Jim looking down at him, serious, almost stern. "Someone's here," he whispered, bending down to speak directly into Blair's ear. Blair shivered at the sensation of Jim's warm moist breath, and nodded. Jim pulled his hands away and helped Blair sit up. They sat quietly, Jim's head cocked as he listened. 

Then he nodded. "It's a guy, and he just went into the ladies' bathroom." He stood up, and Blair followed, and they positioned themselves outside the ladies' room, weapons drawn. 

"Freeze," Blair said the instant the wooden door swung open, and the older man pushing it stopped, his eyes widening and his jaw dropping in shock. 

"D-don't shoot," he whispered. 

"Drop the package," Blair ordered, and Jim kicked it away when he did. "Put your hands on your head. On top of your head, yes, like that. Now take one step forward. Turn to face the door," which Blair's foot was still propping open. Jim holstered his weapon and snapped cuffs on the man's right hand and tugged it to his waist, then brought his left hand back to the small of his back and tightened his two wrists. Then he pulled the man away from the door, letting it swing shut, and put his back against the wall. 

"What's your name?" he asked, but the man was shaking too hard to respond. "Look, we're the police," he reassured him, showing him his badge. Blair tucked his gun into the holster at the small of his back and pulled out his own badge. 

"Why the police?" their suspect whispered, and Blair smiled. 

"Why are you in the ladies' room at," he glanced at his watch, "one-thirty on a Saturday morning?" 

Since they seemed to have reached a stalemate, Jim turned the guy, a little roughly, so he faced the wall, and began patting him down. He tossed the man's wallet to Blair, who opened it and gasped. 

"Mr. Nelsen?" Jim turned to Blair, his hands still on the man's leg. Nelsen gently banged his head against the wall. Jim finished patting him down and turned him back towards them. 

"Nelsen? As in Professor Hetty Nelsen?" he asked, and Nelsen nodded. 

Blair pulled out his cell phone and called Hetty, who answered on the first ring. "Where's your husband?" He could tell that Jim was listening to both sides of the conversation. 

"Lars? Lars?" Hetty called out, but of course there was no answer. 

"We'll meet you in your office," Blair promised her, and left Jim guarding Lars Nelsen while he gathered their things and stuffed them back into his backpack. 

Within twenty minutes, Hetty was there, dressed as Blair had never imagined her, in a sweat suit with green paint splotches on it, her face white with anger and shock. Lars sat, still handcuffed, in the chair her students usually sat in, while she sat at her desk. Jim and Blair stood by the door, Blair grateful it was far too dark for any view out her large windows. 

"Don't publish Sudden Edinburgh," were Lars's first words to her. 

"It's my best book," she protested, and Blair realized this was an old argument. "Besides, who reads them? No one we know." 

"Everyone will know it's us. You know that, Hetty. All our friends and family will know. Do you really want that?" 

She looked hurt and very tired. "I don't care. I'm proud of my work." 

He glanced at Jim and Blair, standing with their arms crossed, looking severely at him, then dropped his eyes and shrugged. Hetty turned to them. 

"Does this have to go any further? And can't you take those things off him?" 

Again, Jim looked to Blair, who smiled sadly at him. "What were you going to do, Mr. Nelsen?" 

He shrugged again, despite his cuffed hands. "I just wanted her to stop. I thought this might frighten her. I'm sorry, Hetty. But you wouldn't listen to reason." 

"Reason," she whispered, and rubbed her face. Jim and Blair remained silent, Blair glancing at Jim's face as he watched her. She raised her head and asked again, "Does this need to go any further?" 

Blair remained silent, letting Jim make the decision. After a few seconds, he stirred, pushing away from the door. "Mr. Nelsen?" 

Nelsen stared at the floor. "It was a stupid idea," he finally said, and looked at his wife. "I'm sorry, Hetty. But I couldn't think how else to stop you." 

"Oh, Lars." 

After another few seconds, Jim removed the cuffs from Nelsen, who remained in the same position. "Call us, Hetty, if you need anything," he told her, sounding stern. She nodded and gave him a weak smile. 

"I'm sorry, Hetty," Blair added, pulling the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. After hesitating another minute, the two detectives left, Blair glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the tableau the husband and wife made, sitting disconsolately in her office in the middle of the night. 

"Jesus," he said when they were in the elevator. "Do you think that's the end of their marriage?" 

Jim lifted a shoulder, rather elegantly, Blair thought. "Marriages work for funny reasons, Chief. They probably don't even know yet." 

Their ride home was silent; Blair was so sleepy he could barely keep his eyes open.. He felt Jim's hand at the small of his back as they climbed the stairs to the loft. By the time they stumbled into their home, he headed straight for the bathroom, peed and washed his face, then fell into his bed, leaving his backpack shoved against the wall next to the door. 

He was more than half asleep when he felt Jim pull off his shoes. "Hey, cowboy," Jim said when he saw Blair's eyes open. "Take your clothes off, okay?" 

"You just ask me to get naked?" he mumbled, and heard Jim laugh. 

"Only in your dreams." But Blair obediently sat up and began tugging at his belt. Jim stood back and watched, then said, "Where's that book?" 

"What book?" He never looked up from the buckle that had suddenly become a Mensa puzzle. 

"You know. Hetty's." 

"In my pack." It occurred to him what Jim was asking for and he looked up him time to see him rooting through the pack and pulling out Hetty's novel Chemistry. "You gonna read that?" he asked, and then wished he could take back the words. 

"You mind?" 

"Naw." He looked back down, determined to get undressed. "It's good. Really. I like the two characters." At last: success. He started unbuttoning his blue jeans. 

"You think, you know, that two guys. Could. You know." 

"Fall in love." Suddenly Blair felt very awake, very aware. He looked up at Jim again, this time really looking at his friend. He said very deliberately, "Yes. I do. I believe that can happen." 

Jim's lips parted slightly, perhaps in surprise, but he said nothing. He glanced down at the book and then back at Blair. "Night, Chief." 

"Night, Jim." 

Blair woke, heart pounding, from a dream of wandering through dank underground passageways. Limestone caverns underneath Cascade. He'd been lost, and looking for something. Someone. Jim, maybe. He couldn't remember. He untangled himself from his bedclothes and headed for the bathroom. There was a dim light coming from Jim's bedroom, and he craned his head back, trying to see what he was doing. 

After peeing, he decided to climb up a few stairs, trying to be quiet enough not to wake a sleeping sentinel. Before he took four steps, however, Jim called out softly, "Blair?" 

"Yeah, man." He stopped, hesitant to continue. 

"Somethin' wrong?" 

"Naw. Just saw your light was on and got worried." 

Jim didn't respond immediately, and Blair turned to go back to his room, when Jim finally said, "Come on up." So he turned again and climbed up the stairs, not sure what he'd find. 

Jim was lying in bed, on his side, the lamp behind him on low. "Can't sleep?" Blair asked. 

Jim shook his head, and stretched, then scooted back, making room for Blair to sit at the edge of the bed. As he sat down, he noticed Hetty's book was splayed face down on the bedside table. He sat cross-legged, tucking his feet under his knees, trying to keep them warm. "What's wrong then?" 

Jim shrugged and put his arm under his head. He looked up at Blair with sleepy eyes, looking a little sad, a little tired. "I dunno. Just. Sorry for Hetty and Lars, I guess." 

"Yeah." Blair wiggled a bit, trying to get comfortable. "You like her book?" 

"Yeah," Jim said, sounding surprised. "I like the two men a lot. They seem like okay guys. Play basketball, watch tv, stuff like that. I thought they'd spend all their time in the chemistry lab or library or something." 

"Hey, I was a scientist, and I play better b-ball than you." 

Jim reached out and tugged at Blair's big toe. "You get a few lucky shots, and now you're claiming to be better than me? Dream on, Junior." 

Blair smacked at his hand, not too hard, and Jim caught it. They remained quiet, sleepy, relaxed, kind of holding hands in the faint light. Then Jim gently shook his arm. "You're cold. Go to bed." 

"'Kay." But he stayed where he was for another minute, smiling sleepily at his friend. "Night." 

As he climbed from Jim's bed, curling his toes against the cold wooden floor, he felt possessed of a strange desire to kiss Jim good night. He remembered how in Hetty's novel, Tommy had been the one to kiss Andrew, after they'd gone to a football game. Tommy had driven Andrew home and they'd sat in his car for a bit, reminiscing about the final two minutes of the game. When they'd fallen silent, Tommy had reached over to Andrew and softly touched his shoulder. Andrew had looked up, half smiling, and Tommy had kissed him. 

Blair stood next to the bed staring at Jim, who was watching him, and wondered what, if anything, Jim would do if he were to lean over and kiss him good night. Just a quick kiss on the mouth. He licked his lips and tried to imagine Jim's pressed against his, but it was impossible. He thought about how much colder and smaller his bed was than Jim's. How lonely. 

Jim watched him, face barely visible turned away from the pale yellow light. Blair slowly took one step toward him, his knees bumping against the mattress, and stood there, silent, eyes wide as he strained to see what emotions might be playing across Jim's face. He thought about Andrew and Tommy, and about himself and Jim, and how the boundary between friends and lovers often isn't very clear. He swallowed, mouth dry with excitement and expectation, and stared at Jim's lips. 

It was dark. It was quiet. He was tired. They had to decide what to do about Lars Nelsen. They'd read Hetty's book, separately and together. They'd lived together for over four years. They'd saved each other's ass, they'd yelled at each other, they'd embraced to celebrate, to comfort, to rest. They spent nearly every minute of every day together, went to award ceremonies together, dinner, camping, running, fishing, shopping, working, playing, living. They lived full lives, together. 

Blair knelt on the edge of the mattress, teetering there awkwardly before placing his hands on the light blanket covering Jim. He crawled forward a bit, still watching Jim who was silently watching him. He could see Jim's eyes better now, this close; they were wide. He stretched out on the bed next to Jim, feeling his body heat emerge from the bedclothes, and leaned forward. Jim remained still, quiet, passive. At last he tilted his head slightly, bent down, and, very gently, kissed Jim. Just a light touch of his lips to Jim's. When he felt Jim's mouth move under his, he pressed harder, licking Jim's lips with his tongue; to his pleasure, Jim's mouth opened, and he felt his tongue shyly touch his own. He sighed, and put his arms around Jim's neck, pulling them closer. 

For long minutes they kissed, slowly moving closer, twisting their bodies into subtly more comfortable positions. Blair felt he could kiss Jim forever; that his body had been designed to lie in Jim's bed, his arms to hold Jim, his lips to kiss him. 

At last Jim pulled back, kissing him once, twice, and then resting his head on his pillow again, smiling into Blair's face. 

"Hey," Blair said. 

"Hey." 

"You Andrew or Tommy?" 

Jim laughed, and pulled Blair closer, until he lay half on top of Jim, who kissed his temple and tongued his ear. "What made you, uh." 

"Come back to your bed?" Blair snuggled closer; he was still on top of the covers and a bit chilly. Jim seemed to realize this and began pushing at the sheets and blanket, scooting them under Blair as he rolled obediently this way and that, until he was lying under them, next to Jim. Together. Blair didn't think he could stop smiling as he curled up close to Jim. Warm. And not alone. 

He never did answer the question. They lay there, smiling fondly at each other. Jim reached over and turned off the lamp by their bed and draped his arm around Blair again. Eventually he fell asleep. Eventually Blair did, too. 


End file.
